Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Here is a newsletter article I recently wrote for school...I thought I would share it with anyone who wanted to read it:

I have been an early childhood educator for twelve years and
a mother for over thirteen. When I
considered what topic to write about for this article, I had so many competing
ideas. Most of them derived from my
graduate work this year and the many things I am learning and practicing in the
studio environment. I started several
articles but there remained one topic, more than any other, that demanded my
attention and that was the principle of enough
love.

Several years ago, I became aware of the slippery slope of too
much doing. As a single mom, I realized how
easily I could overlook the quiet and unobtrusive invitations by life to show
up fully present. Each day we are
invited to fully embrace the gifts of the moment and savor opportunities to be wholly
available with those we love. As a busy
mom I knew that the two people most likely to suffer from a busy lifestyle were
my children. And so, in 2010, I coined the
term enough love. Together, my boys and I decided to use the
phrase enough love (which was quickly
shortened to enough by my youngest)
whenever they needed me, really needed me, to be present. Now when they ask for enough love I stop and give it to them. What this looks like varies from day to day,
but often one or the other of them will be having a challenging day and just
need arms to wrap them in warmth. They will
say, “Mom I need enough” and I stop what I am doing and hold them for as long
as they need. Sometimes I listen and
sometimes it’s just a hug. In these
moments I am not thinking of the dishes in the sink, or the bills on the
counter. I am simply holding them and loving them for as long as they need
me. It seldom lasts longer then a few
minutes before they push gently away and say “Thanks mom. I have enough.” And off they go, into their
own busy lives. In three years they
have never asked for enough love
except when they needed it.

This simple practice has had a ripple effect in my
life. It has changed how I parent and it
has even effected how I teach. I strive
to be fully present with the children and adults who enter the studio. I try to listen deeply to their words and
questions and to continue to provide the support necessary for each of them to
climb their own mountains, no matter how high.
As a mother, enough love looks like a loving embrace. As a teacher it looks like a genuine
curiosity and interest in who each
child is and what interests them and motivates them. It looks different depending on the roles we
play but it is always enough.

Recently I underwent heart surgery, and in the weeks leading
up to it I found myself more frenzied, emotional and less patient then I am
ordinarily. One night my oldest son came
in to my room and said, “Mom you need enough love” and he hugged me. Soon my
youngest son tackled me with a tight hold and there they sat hugging me until I
smiled and said, “Thank you, that’s enough”.
It was a great lesson. As a
parent and a teacher, I practice being present and available for the children
whom I am blessed to know and learn alongside.
But as an adult it is easy to forget that each of us, no matter our age,
needs enough. At times we need to show
up for ourselves with open arms, fully present and available for whatever is
arising. We need to occasionally set
aside our own busy schedules and to do lists long enough to offer ourselves
enough. And in so doing we will always have enough love to share.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes any sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and send you out in the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

“You have to remember one life, one death–this one! To enter fully the day, the hour, the moment whether it appears as life or death, whether we catch it on the inbreath or outbreath, requires only a moment, this moment. And along with it all the mindfulness we can muster... (24)”― Stephen Levine, A Year to Live: How to Live This Year as If It Were Your Last

The Earth laughs colors on a wide horizon

I am often asked why I do art. Art isn't something I do. Art is like breathing and seeing. Art is a force that gives my life it's perspective and clarifies the limited vantage point of my vision. Art provides the framework, the alphabet if you will, for the personal vocabulary and diction that is uniquely mine. I think the same holds true for all of us. Our creativity, whatever it may be, provides an outlet for our still silent voices, beckoning us on to greater heights and wider horizons. Coaxing and teasing out the greatness from the rubble and providing a foundation on which to stand, to peer out, to witness the life all around us.